


no matter the sky or the light or the weather

by marginaliana



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bed Hair, M/M, Mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9051580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: It was Harry's hair that Eggsy liked best in the mornings.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [futuredescending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuredescending/gifts).



It was Harry's hair that Eggsy liked best in the mornings. Harry slept hard like most of the Kingsmen, his body having learned to take its chances when it could; Eggsy hadn't quite trained himself out of waking earlier (a remnant of having to make sure he was out of the house before Dean woke), but he didn't mind it now because it meant he could lie there beside him. Harry's hair was always mussed, sticking up on one side at a variety of improbable angles, or curled around itself like a cat in the place above his ear where the scar was. 

In the summer when Eggsy woke to sunshine, he found that it was scattered with gold, luminescent against the soft white of the pillowcase. It quivered a little as Harry breathed. Watching it was meditative, the closest Eggsy ever came to peace other than being in a room full of people he'd just killed. He found his own breath synchronizing with Harry's, a slow pulse in and then out.

The first time it happened, Harry awoke with a soft shudder of breath inwards. His eyes fluttered open and, as his situation registered, he regarded Eggsy with tolerant bemusement. "Is it really so engrossing to watch me sleep?" he asked.

"Mmm, yeah," Eggsy said, and then, with a smile, "it's like watching clouds, innit? 'Cept instead of all those different shapes, your head's just a bunch of puffed up chickens."

Harry made a rude noise and rolled over, bearing Eggsy down into the warm sheets and stopping his mouth with a kiss. 

After that, whenever Harry awoke, all Eggsy had to say was 'G'morning, flock of chickens' to make him laugh.

When winter came and the mornings grew darker, Eggsy let his hands do the exploration, sliding softly across the pillow until he encountered what he was searching for. Then he'd tease at it, twisting a lock gently between his fingers or scuffing his palm over the soft ends, tossing them this way and that. He was careful not to tug too hard, though, not to rub his thumbs over Harry's scalp and scratch at the places behind his ears that always made him go limp and dark-eyed – because he didn't, in the end, actually want to wake him. Harry deserved the sleep. But the temptation was strong like this, in the dark, because he had only the sound of Harry's breathing to go on, the languid radiated warmth of his body where they intertwined. 

As the sun came up Eggsy would watch its slow progress into the room, at first merely the easing depth of the blackness and then light slowly blooming, finding its way into the room through the thin space between the drapes. Harry washed in pale shadow was a different kind of beautiful – his age showed more like this, his scar a stark slash, but like one of those old photographs it made him seem dashing and romantic. A man who had lived an exciting life, who had so many stories to tell.

Eggsy was looking forward to hearing those stories, was looking forward to seeing Harry asleep in the spring as the light of sunrise turned him a lush, sultry purple. But for now he was content to lie by Harry's side no matter the sky or the light or the weather. As long as they could be like this – together.


End file.
